


as the smoke out of the chimney

by katyglyndwr



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Ambiguous Genitals, Being Walked In On, Everybody's Fucked Up Over Rose Quartz, F/F, Praise Kink, Shapeshifting, dom/sub elements, light humiliation, pointed lack of gem nipples though i dont care for those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyglyndwr/pseuds/katyglyndwr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dancing alone?” You try to press closer against her, but she keeps you at arms length and tilts your face up to look at her. “It's all right, my Pearl. I'm here.”<br/>It's too much, to watch her mouth shape the long-forgotten endearment, and you break the eye contact to nuzzle into her hand. You still don't trust yourself to articulate anything about this feeling, but when you press lips to her palm her breath catches, so you follow that instinct down to your knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as the smoke out of the chimney

**Author's Note:**

> Pearl is just a really good candidate for the '[character] gets walked in on by the top of their dreams' trope to begin with, and I just couldn't shake this concept after 'maximum capacity', and so...I wrote this...it takes place shortly after Cry For Help.  
> Title from the friggin' King James Bible because, hey, I'm already going straight to hell for the actual body of the work, why not really commit?

The worst part of unfusing, you decide in the aftermath of the communication hub incident, is the crash. Your form is never large, but after you have had a taste of a towering, confident body, you feel even smaller than usual. Another lost, broken pearl, bereft of a leader to direct her. You pace around your room, rattling with adrenaline and shame, aimless.  


Eventually your frantic movement slows enough that you gather the presence of mind to fall onto your toes, forcing your legs alive, and take a few strong steps. Exertion radiates through the whole of your body, and there is a kind of comfort in it. (You still crave the togetherness of your ill-gotten fusion.) You hold your arms out wistfully for an imaginary partner, twirl with one hand up for her to grab, and land with both arms crossed over your shoulders. Briefly you let yourself remember the sensation of an embrace and let your hands slide down your arms, over your sides, to the hips where your muscles are pulling hardest...  


You palm the curve of your own hipbones and skate your hands over your stomach, a shivery-bright streak of sensation, and permit yourself to let out a little sigh. It's jarring being back in your own body after even a short time being Sardonyx, but it's not all bad. You get to really appreciate the strength in your own thighs, the muscle tense and relax under your hand as your hips rotate over your thighs.  


You bite down on your lower lip as you sprawl your fingers out, and it's good and strong and you like it so you dig your fingertips _in--_  


“Need a hand with that?” You whirl on one heel only to come face-to-face with Rose Quartz.  


Well, no, it's not really Rose, but she is resplendent in her dress with the shafts of light catching in her curls, and she is giving you a small secret smile and you can't ignore what it's doing to you.  


“I--” you lick your lips. “Rose.” She smiles wider and puts one hand on your shoulder. You look up into her perfect face and find nothing but compassion. You lean into her touch and let her slowly turn you on one foot.  


“Dancing alone?” You try to press closer against her, but she keeps you at arms length and tilts your face up to look at her. “It's all right, my Pearl. I'm here.”  


It's too much, to watch her mouth shape the long-forgotten endearment, and you break the eye contact to nuzzle into her hand. You still don't trust yourself to articulate anything about this feeling, but when you press lips to her palm her breath catches, so you follow that instinct down to your knees.  


She's smiling down at you. _Down_ at _you_ and you feel not at all unlike you are leaving the planet's orbit, your body tingling as it tries to keep up with this awesome force rushing you forward.  


“You can keep going, though. I didn't mean to interrupt.”  


You blink. She smirks a little and reaches down to untie the sash around your waist. It falls off you in soft coils and she straightens back up.  


“There.” she says, and then teasing, “As you were, ensign.”  


With a sort of creeping horror, you catch on. Slowly, like moving through water, you replace your hand on your inner thigh and drag your fingers over the flesh. Rose's eyes follow the movement like a laser sight. Sweltering under her gaze, you hook a few fingers under the loose hem of your top to reveal a slice of smooth skin. Light touches graze the flat plane of your abdomen, creeping higher, and she licks her lips and you pull the fabric up and away.  


She looks up at you then, through dark eyelashes, and another wave of desire washes over you, to be _touched_ , doesn't she _want_ to touch you? You lay back and run splayed hands over your torso, presenting, tempting, making her eyes widen a little to take you in. You dig your fingers into the softness of your chest, nails scrambling for purchase on the smooth curves.  


“Yeah, that looks real good...” her voice has dropped low and husky and you feel it like an electric pulse. She likes it, likes you, it's working, and you drop your head back to theatrically tangle your hand in your own hair, letting the yank pull a short moan from you.  


“Rose...” You're sure your face is bright blue, you're stumbling over your words, but you can tell you're leaving the desired impression the more you debase yourself, so you manage to stammer out, “please, I'm, I _need_ you.”  


“I can tell you do,” she says, eyes on the hand you're kneading into your hip. You sway forward, making the most plaintive eyes you think you can conjure up through the haze of lust.  


“Rose please touch me,” you manage in a rush.  


“Shit,” she says with something close to reverence, “okay, yeah,” and hikes her skirt up past her knees. You're so busy being distracted by the new skin to admire—those calves—that the bare foot shoving into your chest takes you by surprise. You land on your back hard and let out a quiet, stunned noise at the impact. There's no time to catch your breath before Rose is straddling you, holding you immobile between the ground and her own body's weight. You kick your legs uselessly and try again to gasp your way back to breathing.  


When Rose rakes her hips against your thigh you follow it with a shivery moan. She's so elegant, so soft, that sometimes it's easy to forget that she is a warhorse of a gem, but you feel her muscles squeezing around you and are acutely aware that she could snap you like a toothpick. The thought sends another shudder through you. It's not unpleasant.  


“Pearl...” she breathes, and puts a hand loosely around your neck. Your body goes into high alert, a silly semiotic response that nonetheless sends your body tensing and pupils widening. On Rose's part, the shift in position has wedged her leg in between your own, and you cant your hips upward to get even more. You wimper low in your throat (your throat that she could crush, and you try to tilt your chin even further back, wanting to bare yourself to her even further).  


“More,” you choke out, “Rose, _more_.”  


“Oh, my lovely dancer,” she whispers, and tightens her fingers minutely. “You try so hard for me. I love it.”  
What else is there to say? You nod your head helplessly, still writhing up against her in a desperate attempt to get more friction. You are vaguely aware of dampness on your cheeks.  


“You want me so much,” she concludes with quiet wonderment, and barely brushes a kiss to your gem as you come undone. For a moment you think you see stars.  


When you stop shaking, Rose’s form has already begun shifting. Her ringlets are softening out, becoming gentle curls down her back. Her arms are just as warm and welcoming as you remember, though. You crawl in, bundle yourself against the comfortable bulk of her shoulder, and let your sobs slow into breaths and your hands curl lightly against her chest. It suddenly feels very quiet. Your breath, her breath, and the background hum of the water, all fade into comforting white noise.  


“Th...thank you, I. Needed that.” you say at last.  


“Jeez, P, anytime.” she says with a careless wave of her hand. You look up at Rose's full lips, curved into a wistful sort of smile.  


“Amethyst.” you say reproachfully. Her features quickly rearrange themselves, and Rose Quartz disappears like a ghost.  


“Okay, okay, I'm done.” She looks away, almost guilty. “Sorry I thought you'd, like, I figured you'd rather...you know, have her here.” She sits up abruptly. “I should probably just, uh, get going? If you need some time alone, or whatever.”  


You wrap both arms around her middle and squeeze her tightly.  


“Okay,” she says, fully back in her own form, uncharacteristically quiet and soothing. “Okay, yeah.” You close your eyes and tuck your face against her chest. She gingerly raises a hand and, very slowly, begins combing your mussed hair into place.  


You still feel like a tiny defective pearl in a huge and threatening world but the gentle stroking is...nice. Surrounded by the soft hush of waterfalls, you even let yourself enjoy it a little.


End file.
